


Camp Eagle Creek

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Ghost Stories, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, OCs - Freeform, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon, Summer Camp, discussion of teen sexuality, everyone thinks dean is hot stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-20 08:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: Dean spoke up. “This place has its own personal ghost story though, doesn’t it?”“Oooh, tell it!” one of the obnoxious girls said, leaning toward Dean and showing her cleavage in the firelight. “I want to hear.”Dean gave her a brief smile. “In the fifties, back when this place was first a summer camp, after the war, a kid hung himself on his thirteenth birthday, from the rafters in one of the cabins.” A little shiver ran down Jane’s spine. It was just a story, but those rafters were real as anything. “Now sometimes ghosts of violent deaths - like murder and suicide - get trapped, playing out the patterns of their demise over and over again on unwitting victims in the living world.” Dean had leaned forward, voice low and dramatic, Sam sitting beside him impassive, “Now I’m not saying that ghosts are real, or any of this is true, but I am saying, ever since that boy died, every thirteen years, a kid who has a birthday that summer kills themselves, like clockwork.” There was an indrawn breath from around the fire, and Jane felt goosebumps rising on the back of her neck.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 days of wincestmas! There's nothing I love more than outsider POV, so enjoy!  
> Given the nature of the haunting, there are mentions of suicide throughout the fic and a brief scene in part 2 where someone attempts under the influence of a ghost. No one is seriously hurt.

The first week of July was always Jane’s favorite. School was over, the summer stretched ahead, joyful and interminable; it was warm enough to swim, and best of all, camp was starting. Camp Eagle Creek was her dad’s pet project and Jane’s yearly delight. The camp had been an army base in the ‘40s; now the mess hall and barracks served as a home-away-from-home for Jane every year. She and her little sister Lisa spent six dreamy weeks there each summer, swimming, hiking, canoeing, doing arts and crafts, and practicing archery with forty other kids. 

The summer of 1998 was about to be the best summer ever. Jane had finished 9th grade, gone to a Spice Girls concert, and now the hottest guy she’d ever seen was working as a camp counselor. 

He had a mouth that you’d imagine kissing for hours, dirty blond hair, sorta spiky like he was in a boyband, and he walked with this swagger that made Jane feel uncomfortably warm. His name was Dean, which was a normal thing for Jane to know. She knew all the counselors' names, obviously. 

They all arrived a week early for orientation, and Dean had his little brother with him, who was her age. He was cute too, kinda, but he pretty much always melted into his brother’s shadow, hunched up in oversized sweatshirts even though it was getting too warm for that. Jane had heard the counselor’s orientation so many times she knew it by heart, and she was supposed to be helping Lisa; sweep out all the cabins and hang up the flags in the dining hall. But instead Jane spent most of the week hanging around the orientation cabin while her dad shot her stern looks. 

When the other campers arrived and the activities started it was both better and worse, because she didn’t get to ogle Dean shamelessly for as many hours a day, but it also meant group swims. Every afternoon a different camp counselor was on lifeguard duty, and on Wednesdays, it was Dean. Wednesday had instantly become Jane’s favorite day of the week. Dean in a pair of swim trunks, a cool necklace, and nothing else but his freckles, was enough to make Jane weak in the knees, and she wasn’t the only one. 

A dozen of the other girls were also hanging around the docks whenever Dean was on duty. Some of the girls were a couple years older and more developed than Jane, and Dean was paying attention to a couple of them, making small talk and smiling at them in their swimsuits. 

Face hot with jealousy, Jane turned away, and caught sight of Dean’s brother. Beneath the baggy clothes, he was more toned than she’d guessed; ribs showing but stomach and arms defined with muscle more like his brother’s than like the skinny boys his age. His nipples were pink and perfect, his dark hair slicked down with water making his sharp features look even more elfin than normal. 

He was looking past Jane, at his brother flirting with the other girls, and there was an odd expression on his face - somewhere between annoyance and amusement. Jane wondered if he was jealous. It must be hard to play second fiddle to someone like Dean. 

Dean was supervising one of the boy’s cabins, of course, and she wasn’t supposed to go over there at night, but she was the boss’s daughter. She said something to her cabin counselor about running an errand for her dad and she was free to go. 

Sneaking through the dewy grass behind Cedar Cabin, she heard voices on the porch. 

One of them said, “We never get to do shit like this.” 

“We got a job to do, Sammy.” That was Dean. His voice was so hot, sorta growly and low. It was a weird thing to say though. Dean had a job to do, sure, but Sam was just a camper. 

“I know that. But don’t you want to enjoy it a little?” 

“We’re on a timeline here, that ring a bell? If you want to play Cub Scouts, be my guest but I’ll be busy trying to avert Friday the 13th, ok?” 

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam muttered, and there was the sound of scuffling. Jane wrinkled her nose. They talked in their own sibling code, just like she and Lisa sometimes did. The muffled thumping and shuffling on the porch died down and Sam said, “What if we don’t turn anything up? You think it could be a coincidence?” 

“Nope.” That was Dean, popping the P sound. She could picture his cherry lips pursing. “Every thirteen years like clockwork? No way.” 

“There’s not even a beep of EMF.” 

“All the better. We’re not here to waste the thing, just to get info back to dad.” 

Sam said something she didn’t hear, and then the porch step creaked. “C’mon, squirt,” Dean said. “Time for lights out.”

Jane snuck away back to her own bunk, and lay awake replaying the conversation in her head and wondering about it. 

The next week, Dean was on dish duty, rinsing off the plastic plates and putting them in the big industrial sanitizer. It looked like Sam had come to help him, which Lisa never did when Jane had dish duty. The two of them were working elbow to elbow. Jane hovered by the back door to the kitchen, watching as Dean flicked soapy water at his brother, and Sam swatted at him with a dish towel. Dean leaned back out of range, grinning, and rumpled Sam’s hair with his wet hand, making Sam squawk. Dean was grinning, bright and easy, and Jane wished viscerally that he’d look at her like that. Only, not exactly like that, because he was looking at his little brother. Right? 

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice said behind her, and Jane spun. Her sister stood just outside, in french braids and sandals, arms crossed. “Oh my god, you’re totally spying on that guy!” 

“Shut up!” Grabbing Lisa’s elbow, Jane hustled her away from the door and around the side of the dining hall. 

“What’s his name, Dan?” 

“Dean.” 

“You’re pathetic.” 

Jane punched her in the arm. “God, you’re so annoying.” 

“I’ll tell dad if you hit me again.” She rubbed her arm. “You’re like, nuts about him.” 

“C’mon he’s so hot.” 

“Gross,” Lisa said, wrinkling her nose. 

“You’re too young to understand.” 

“I’m not a baby, I’ll be thirteen in two weeks. I just think boys are overrated.” 

“How are we even related?” 

“I ask myself that all the time,” Lisa muttered. “You going to pottery next?” 

“Yeah. You?” 

“Hike up Grave Trail.” Lisa made a face. “I don’t know if I even want to come to Eagle Creek next year.” 

“What?” Jane exclaimed. She knew Lisa didn’t love the place like she did, but it was a precious family tradition. 

Lisa shrugged. “Sophie and Ben and Amy all went to soccer camp this year. I’m going to be way out of practice for tryouts this fall. I just want to do my own thing, you know?” 

“Soccer camp sounds so boring.”

“And pottery doesn’t?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you at dinner.” 

Saturday evening was campfire night. Everyone went down to the firepit and dad led the group in a dozen familiar songs with his battered old guitar. Jane always loved campfire nights - something so primal and right about singing together, their voices and the sparks spiralling up into the dark sky. 

Jane knew that sometimes the older kids would sneak away from the fire, or share a blanket under the pretext of the nighttime chill, and she looked over to see if Dean was making a move on any of the girls who were so brazenly interested. But he wasn’t. He had his arm looped around his little brother’s shoulders, Sam leaning against his chest, partially lost in Dean’s coat. It was cute, how close they were. Jane and Lisa hadn’t been close like that in ages, maybe ever. 

After the singing there were ghost stories, of course. The kids gasped and ooooo’d, but Jane had heard all of her dad’s stories a bunch of times before. Lisa looked bored too, and when Jane glanced up to check on Dean, he and Sam both appeared more amused than frightened. A couple of campers and one of the counselors took turns telling stories, including one about a dog that actually made Jane shiver. 

Then Dean spoke up, and she looked over, startled. “This place has its own personal ghost story though, doesn’t it?” 

Jane’s father laughed a little uncomfortably. “That’s just a… a tragedy, really. Not a ghost story.”

“Oooh, tell it anyway!” one of the obnoxious girls said, leaning toward Dean and showing her cleavage in the firelight. “I want to hear.” 

Dean gave her a brief smile. “In the fifties, back when this place was first a summer camp, after the war, a kid hung himself on his thirteenth birthday, from the rafters in one of the cabins.” A little shiver ran down Jane’s spine. It was just a story, but those rafters were real as anything. “Now sometimes ghosts of violent deaths - like murder and suicide - get trapped, playing out the patterns of their demise over and over again on unwitting victims in the living world.” Dean had leaned forward, voice low and dramatic, Sam sitting beside him impassive, “Now I’m not saying that ghosts are real, or any of this is true, but I am saying, ever since that boy died, every thirteen years, a kid who has a birthday that summer kills themselves, like clockwork.” There was an indrawn breath from around the fire, and Jane felt goosebumps rising on the back of her neck. 

“And let me guess, this is the thirteenth year,” Lisa broke in, rolling her eyes. “That’s how ghost stories always work, it’s always  _ and this is the time the haunting will return! To get you personally! _ ” she warbled, in an exaggerated spooky-narrator voice. 

There was a beat, and then Dean laughed, cracking the hushed shell around the fire. “You’re right. That is always how ghost stories end, isn’t it?” 

“Well, now,” Jane’s dad said, awkwardly. “It’s getting late. What do you say we put out the fire and all get to bed?” 

In the bustle of shoveling sand on the fire and heading back toward the cabins, Jane found herself walking beside Sam. Dean was up ahead with two of the other counselors, laughing about something. 

“You looked kinda freaked by Dean’s story,” Sam said softly, and Jane blushed. 

“No! I just…” She shook her head. “It’s a little creepy, because there really was a kid who shot himself here back in like, ‘86? I was just a baby, but I know the story because it’s actually the reason the last owners sold the place to my dad.” 

“‘85,” Sam said. 

“What?”

“Robert Griffith, died 1985.” Jane felt the chill come back, hairs prickling along her arms. Then Sam smiled, startling and normal. “But all the scariest stories have a little bit of truth to them. Where else would they come from?” 

“Right,” Jane said, willing her voice not to shake. “Of course.” 

She lay awake that night in her bunk above Lisa’s, listening to the breathing of the other girls in her cabin and staring up at the thick-hewn beams of the rafters above her head. 


	2. Chapter 2

The nurse’s room was in a sprawling building behind the dining hall that served as the main office. Jane was in there getting band-aids when she heard the voices. The building was cool and dim in the middle of the afternoon, and ought to have been empty. Creeping down the hall, box of band-aids clutched in one hand, Jane poked her head around the corner and saw shadows moving behind the frosted glass of her father’s office door. 

“...no records further back than summer ‘86.” It was Dean speaking. “You?”

“Nothing.” Of course the other person was Sam. “But I’m not that surprised. His daughter said they bought the place afterward, there’s no reason for them to have kept the business records from the previous owner.” 

“So we still don’t know any more than we started with.” There was a thump of something hitting the cheap paneled wall. 

“It’s not Griffith that we need anyway,” Sam said, “It’s the first one.”

“Great. Well, I gotta go supervise some kiddies playing with bows and arrows.” 

Jane ducked back around the corner as the office door opened, and then wondered why she was hiding when they were the ones breaking into her dad’s office. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t think archery is cool,” Sam said, as their footsteps echoed down the hall, away from her. “Could be useful someday.”

“Yeah that’ll go over great with dad. Hey Dad, it was a complete bust but we learned a new skill! Could be useful someday.” 

Jane heard Sam say, “Jerk,” before the front door slammed, leaving Jane wondering what they had been looking for in the office, and how on earth archery could be useful in the twentieth century. 

Jane wasn’t actually stalking Dean, she just happened to see him walking in the wrong direction before lunch, as everyone else streamed toward the dining hall. Since the last time he’d been away from the crowd she’d caught him and his brother breaking into her dad’s office, she felt justified in following him. He was headed for the grassy play field, where a volleyball net was still set up. 

Jane frowned in confusion when Dean reached the door of the little shed off to one side of the field, and glanced in both directions before slipping inside. There was nothing in there except recreational equipment. Softballs and bats, badminton racquets, soccer balls, a few extra life vests. 

She approached the back of the shed quietly, and was glad for her caution when she heard a thump and a distinct groan. Jane’s eyes flew wide and her heart leapt into her throat - maybe she was wrong, maybe he’d just hit his elbow… 

And then she heard Dean’s voice, low and distinct. “God, baby. Been teasing me all week.” 

Someone else shushed him, and there was some more thudding, some muffled swearing, and a metallic clatter like a bunch of croquet hoops being kicked, and then two people moaned at once. Jane’s face was on fire. The pit of her stomach was all knotted up, sick and hot at once as the erratic thuds turned into a rhythmic, steady thumping sound, accompanied by Dean’s low grunts and the other, higher voice moaning in time with each thud. 

Jane bit her lip hard, so jealous and guilty and turned on that she was shaking, all her feelings tangled up in the swoop of adrenaline. It was probably one of the other counselors - summer hook ups happened all the time even though they were technically against the rules; not as against the rules as it would be for Dean to fuck a camper. God, Jane hoped it wasn’t one of those girls who had been showing off in their swimsuits to Dean on the dock. Then she’d have to tell her dad and Dean would have to leave and everything would be awful. 

Whoever it was was loving whatever Dean was doing in there. Jane had seen a porno once, a stolen VHS watched in a friend’s basement, oversaturated colors and unsettling noises. This sounded better than that; urgent gasps and whimpers and the low, animal sounds Dean was making. It was making Jane’s privates tingle, and she curled both fists in the fabric of her shorts to keep from touching herself. 

Someone said, “God, Dean,” high and strangled, and she thought the voice was familiar but couldn’t place it. 

There was a whine that ended abruptly in a muffled yelp, and Dean sighed, “Fuck yes, baby.” Jane felt her stomach clench with heat. Dean groaned, sounding pretty much like he had when they’d served key lime pie for dessert two nights ago, and the thudding noises stopped. 

Lunch was ending and people were beginning to leave the dining hall and mill around on the grass. A handful of kids had picked up the game of volleyball again. Jane tried to look casual leaning against the side of the shed. Inside there was some muffled laughter and the rustle of clothing.

She heard the door to the shed creak open, and stayed pressed against the splintery wall on the other side. She desperately wanted to peak, to see who was coming out with Dean, but then they would see her and know she’d been listening. Instead she fast-walked a dozen paces away from the shed and turned to pretend she’d been coming from the other direction. There were enough campers around now to camouflage her - no reason she should stand out. 

When she turned, she spotted Dean immediately, calling out encouragement to one of the volleyball teams, looking relaxed and cheerful. The after-lunch crowd also made it impossible to know which girl he’d been with. The only person near him was Sam. Had Sam known where his big brother was? She hadn’t seen him waiting outside the shed, so he’d probably been at lunch. They always ate together - would Sam be annoyed at being ditched for a girl? 

But Sam was smiling, a sort of goofy, easy smile, and Dean was smiling back, shoving his shoulder. Still feeling shaky and unsettled, Jane went to see if she could steal any leftovers from the kitchen. 

Jane woke up in the dark, not sure what had roused her. The glow-in-the-dark hands of her watch said it was a little past three in the morning, and she realized that it was Lisa’s birthday today. Leaning over the edge of her bunk, Jane looked down, maybe to drop something on her sister or some other kind of birthday hazing. But Lisa wasn’t in her sleeping bag. 

Frowning, Jane swung her legs out of her bunk and dropped lightly to the floor. A sense of unease rolled in her gut as she slid her feet into her sandals and padded out of the cabin, toward the buzzing fluorescent light of the bathrooms, lit all night. 

The door creaked loudly, echoing off the tiles. It was blinding to Jane’s nighttime eyes, and she had to blink half a dozen times to see clearly. 

Lisa was standing in the middle of the empty showers, in her Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms and ratty old t-shirt. Their father’s toiletry kit was open on the ground, travel sized toothpaste and earplugs rolling across the floor of the shower. Lisa had his straight razor flipped open in one hand. 

“Lisa!” Jane yelled. 

Lisa looked up at her, dead-eyed, unseeing, and drew the blade across her left wrist.

Jane screamed, and rushed at her sister, trying to grab the blade away from her, but Lisa shoved her off with uncanny, inhuman strength. Jane slipped and fell in the wet tile, biting her tongue and tasting blood. 

The bathroom door slammed open and Dean and Sam burst in. Dean was carrying an honest to god shotgun, raising it toward them, and Jane screamed again, but Sam grabbed the barrel, shoving it aside. “Dean, don’t!” 

Dean swore and launched himself at Lisa. The razor clattered to the ground before Lisa knocked him back, and how was that  _ possible? _ Dean had easily eighteen inches of height and sixty pounds of muscle on Lisa, who was still just a skinny kid. But she thrust out her arm and Dean was slamming back against the wall, groaning. And then Sam was pulling out a ziplock baggie of something white and crystalline, and dumping it over Lisa’s head, and Lisa made a little choking noise and collapsed. 

Jane was hyperventilating, whispering her sister’s name over and over as she crawled across the floor. There was blood on the tiles, bright scarlet. Lisa was moving again, whimpering, and Sam was kneeling at her side, helping her sit up. 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Hand above your heart, you’re going to be fine.” He pressed a wad of paper towels against her wrist, hands steady. 

“What happened?” Lisa gasped. “I was… it wasn’t me. There was something in me, making me-” she broke off with a hiccough, looking down at the bloody razor and the crimson-spattered tiles. “Oh god.” 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Dean repeated, wincing as he struggled to his feet. He checked the shotgun and set it to one side. “It’s harder to kill yourself by slitting your wrists than people think. Lemme see.” 

Lisa looked up at him, white-faced as he examined her wrist. “It was the ghost wasn’t it?”

“This won’t even need stitches,” Dean said, ignoring the question. “Sam, go get the first aid kit.” 

“I felt him,” Lisa continued, blank-eyed as Sam ran for the door. “I  _ was _ him. Otis. He was.” She choked on a breath. “He was so sure no one would ever love him.”

“Otis?” Dean said, scary-intent, kneeling beside her. He was still gripping her wrist, blood on his fingers. “What else do you remember about him? A last name?” 

“I don’t know, I…”

“Think, Lisa. This is important. If you can help us figure out who he is, we can put him to rest.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears beading on her lashes. “Otis. Otis… Otis Tanner!” 

Dean let out a heavy breath. “Good. That’s good. Ok, let’s get you cleaned up,” he added as Sam came clattering back, clutching a huge red bag, almost the size of Jane’s school backpack. 

Something about that name sounded familiar. Jane made a noise, and both boys looked up at her. 

“Jane, your sister is going to be fine,” Dean said, exchanging a glance with Sam as Sam unzipped the first aid kit. “Honestly I'm a little surprised at Otis. Normally ghosts are more... Emphatic about this kind of thing."

“I was fighting him,” Lisa told him. She was still pale, but she had stopped shivering quite as hard.

“Good girl,” Dean said approvingly, sounding a little too much like their dad. “And you got his name so we're going to stop anyone else getting hurt.” He peeled back the paper towels, and Jane stomach flipped at the bright wound welling blood again. 

Sam must have seen Jane’s expression turn queasy. “Hey Jane,” he said, “if you want to help us, you can go to the kitchen and get us the biggest thing of salt you can find.”

“Salt?” Jane echoed, looking down at the white crystals scattered across the tiles, some of them beginning to dissolve in the spots of blood. 

“Yeah. I remember seeing a huge sack when I was in there,” Sam said. “That would be really helpful, Jane. We’ll take care of your sister.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jane nodded and ran for the dining hall, feet slapping in the cold, wet grass. Pulling open the door to the building, she was engulfed in the familiar scent of old wood and glue from the mid-century paneling on the walls and the stale grease from thousands of meals. It was dark and shadowy but she knew her way around as well as she knew her own bedroom at home. 

The salt was in the pantry and she dragged it down from the shelf, a fifty pound bag smacking onto the floor. Staggering under its weight, arms straining, Jane had to stop near the front door of the dining hall to catch her breath. Beside her, there was a little display behind glass about the history Camp Eagle Creek, lit even at night with a small, warm light. 

Jane looked closer at one of the pictures she had seen a thousand times. A sepia toned and faded family portrait of the original post-war owners of the camp, parents of 12 children. Beneath the photo, on a strip of typewritten paper curling up at one edge, were all their names. And there, at the bottom left, was the name of the youngest son - Otis Tanner. 

When she got back to the bathroom lugging the salt, sweat was sticking her hair and her pajama shirt to the back of her neck. 

“He could be buried anywhere,” Dean was saying. “Fucking summer camps. Kid dies in Connecticut, their family comes and takes them home, their body could be in Maine or Pennsylvania or fucking Florida for all we know.”

“I know who it is,” Jane said dropping the sack of salt heavily inside the door. 

All three of them whirled to look at her. Jane was glad to see that Lisa had gotten some of her color back and had her wrist neatly taped up with butterfly bandages. “I knew the name sounded familiar. The Tanners were the first owners. There's a picture of them in the dining hall. They lived in a cabin up above Grave Trail and they’re buried there. That’s why we call it Grave, for the little family cemetery.” 

“A cemetery?” Dean blinked at her, like he was really seeing her for the first time, and, despite everything else, it was enough to make Jane's stomach heat pleasantly. “Motherfucker,” he added, apparently to himself. “I can’t believe we missed that. Okay, you two stay put. Go back to the cabin and make a ring around yourselves with salt. It repels spirits. You should be safe. Try and get some rest, let us handle this.” 

“What are you going to do?” Lisa asked. She had Sam's big sweatshirt wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Going to find Otis,” Dean said patting her on the shoulder. “Nothing for you to worry about. All we need is directions up to that trailhead.”

Jane and Lisa ended up on the porch of their cabin, wrapped in Jane’s sleeping bag with a rough circle of salt poured out on the wood around them. They huddled for warmth and comfort they way they hadn’t done in years, their arms around each other. Jane wondered if this was why Sam and Dean were so oddly close - knowing about this kind of thing made you want to hold your loved ones closer. 

The hands of Jane’s watch showed almost five in the morning. Lisa’s shoulder was bony and warm against hers. Jane swallowed, looking out into the dark, at the familiar shapes of the cabins. “Lisa…” Her sister shifted and made a sleepy noise. “If you… you know. If you ever felt like… like hurting yourself, you know you could tell me, right?” 

“I know,” Lisa said slowly. “But I don’t think about it. I mean, life sucks sometimes, and obviously I know it’s something I  _ could _ do, but I’ve seriously considered it.”

“Okay, but just remember you can tell me anything,” Jane insisted. “Always.” 

She felt Lisa nod against her shoulder and there was a long silence. Then Lisa said, “I think I like girls.” 

Jane blinked. “Like… you mean like…”

“Yeah,” Lisa said, softly. “Like other girls like boys.” 

“Oh.” The night was filled with the rustle of the trees and the distant murmur of the lake. Distantly, an owl called. 

“Oh? Is that all?” Lisa asked, and Jane could feel her tensing, defensive and nervous. 

She tightened her arm around her little sister. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me?” 

Lisa sighed, relaxing. “You’re so dumb.” 

_“You’re_ so dumb,” Jane shot back, and smiled for the first time all night. 

Dawn was just beginning to paint everything in washed-out gray when two dark figures emerged from the woods, walking towards them. Jane’s heart picked up fearfully, but it was just Dean and Sam. They were filthy, covered in dirt, shovels swung over their shoulders. 

Nudging Lisa, who had dozed off leaning against her, Jane waved to them. “How’d it go?” she called in a stage whisper as they got near, not wanting to disturb the other cabins. Groaning, Lisa rubbed her eyes, waking up. 

“All done,” Dean said. His voice was rough and tired, but satisfied. It reminded Jane, for a mortified moment, of how he’d sounded in the shed. “Otis Tanner is at rest, and there shouldn’t be any more suicides. But we gotta go before anyone sees us like this.” He gestured at their muddy clothes. 

“You aren’t staying?” Jane asked. “You could wash up before morning, nobody would even notice.” 

He and Sam exchanged a glance. “Nah. It’s been a… an interesting vacation. But we’ve got work to do.” 

It took less than ten minutes for them both to grab their sleeping bags and duffels - heavy, scuffed army-surplus bags that both boys hefted easily. Dean left a hasty note with an apology and an excuse about a family emergency, and Jane and Lisa walked them down the trail to the parking lot. The light had grown bright enough to see Sam waving out the back window as the two of them pulled away in a growly classic car. Dean didn’t look back. 

Her dad swore colorfully about losing a counselor in the middle of the summer but it wasn’t like it had never happened before. A few of the girls moped, but Jane never figured out which of them had been with Dean in the ball shed; none seemed uniquely distraught by his absence. That was odd, Jane thought, because surely anyone who’d known Dean like that would be captured for life. 

Mostly, the summer at Eagle Creek continued as if nothing had happened. The only evidence that Dean and Sam had ever been there was the healing cut on Lisa’s wrist, hidden under a dozen colorful bracelets, and, in the little family cemetery up in the forest, the freshly turned earth on one old grave. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
